I Have Musical Anhedonia

Hi friends!

Have you heard of the Barcelona Music Reward Questionnaire (BMRQ)? I came across it because I googled, "why don't I enjoy music as much as other people?" Of course, it's one of those things you don't bother to google because you don't think you'll get an actual answer. 

A Sixth Sense

Sometimes when I fall asleep, I get a very intense ticklish sensation (some may call it tingling), that ranges from somewhat pleasant to very uncomfortable! I usually have to jolt myself awake because it feels like I'm being tickled aggressively and I just want to squirm. Now, I imagine the majority of people do not experience this. I cannot even begin to accurately describe what it feels like. It's another one of those things I didn't bother to google until later in life!

Reddit turns up sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, and astral projection forums. Huh, I can't seem to find a scientific answer for this phenomenon.

However, when I asked, "why don't I enjoy music as much as other people?", it turned up something called Musical Anhedonia. For a small percentage of people, the brain's reward centers do not get activated when hearing music. Researchers studying this used a survey to assess five categories:

Musical Seeking: Actively looking for new songs or concerts.

Emotion Evocation: Experiencing thrills, goosebumps, or tears.

Mood Regulation: Using music to alter your emotional state.

Social Reward: Enjoying music as a shared, communal experience.

Sensory-Motor Response: Tapping your feet, dancing, or humming.

I imagine if I took this survey, my score would be pretty low. This is something I didn't realize was a minority within the population. Actually, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw people's Spotify wrapped or number of streams per song (ranging from 200-600). I thought, perhaps, the people who love music post about it more, so therefore they should represent a pretty small subset of the population! 

Hmm... I'm not so sure about that anymore. Imagine losing one of your 5 senses, or having it dulled. I have a friend who can't smell (aka, anosmia). You'd think of this as a minor inconvenience, but it does have an impact on the way you perceive the world compared to others. Taste is greatly affected by smell, so the typical foods other people enjoy would taste different to you. The same friend said she's tried a hit of other peoples' vapes, and she didn't get the hype since they didn't taste like anything. I reminded her that she can't smell, and then she got mad at me. (Joking)

Are we anti-silence?

More often than not, I see people fill the silence with music. I just don’t really have that urge, since I love using silence as space to gather my own thoughts. Apparently, the people I talk to hate thinking to themselves. It seems to kickstart a lot of negativity for people when they start introspecting, but for me, it's an outlet to brainstorm and discover things about myself. I mean, it's exactly what I am doing when writing this blog post.

I often wonder what life was like before streaming services and portable music. Music was probably more of a special event to be enjoyed while active listening, and not so much being out and about.

Why do I collect CDs then? I think I feel that way about music. It’s more of a special occasion for me. When I try to discover music, it isn't through streaming random playlists or the radio. I usually ask for other people's song recommendations, or I will pluck out a melody from the background of a TikTok. I feel that I do have a degree of musical anhedonia, so it is very challenging to find music that I connect with. Furthermore, I have noticed that my memories of a song are not long lasting. Even songs that I think are strokes of musical genius, I tend to forget about if I haven't listened to them recently.

I think CDs help with that. They are a physical reminder to discover music. In fact, I'm forced to listen to the more forgettable songs in a playlist -- aka, the non-hits -- and rediscover them again. I truly feel like when a play a CD, it's like I'm hearing the songs again for the first time. I may not be moved to tears, or want to get up and dance, or gravitate towards music as a source of comfort. However, I see music as an art to be appreciated, and a playlist as a curated collection of similar works (which is artistic in itself). 

My brain's reward centers aren't stimulated just by consuming music. However, tapping into the creative flow that music provides -- making a curated mixtape, hearing someone explain how they produced a song, and breaking down why I think a song is undeniable catchy -- that does! So even though I'm not going to be listening to the same song 600 times, I'm seeking out ways to enjoy music, even if it doesn't illicit as much of an emotional response as it does for others.

Thanks for reading, until next time! 

- Valentine

More than Language

I entered a used bookstore. I don't usually buy books. I am a fan of thumbing through physical pages, but I usually opt for the compact, instant convenience of a PDF copy. Mindlessly, I walk over to the "Asian and Buddhist Philosophy" section and skim through the titles.

J. Krishnamurti, "On Love and Loneliness." Was it surprise or delight to see a familiar name? I flipped through the annotated, stained pages.

Upon seeing the price tag, I scoffed, "They have to be insane for charging $7.95 on an annotated copy of this book! It should be $5, tops." [For context, the "new" price of this book was printed on the back: $10 USD]

My arrogance was facetious. In fact, I knew that I would be happily walking out of the store with this book. Many times, I had traced the words of Krishnamurti's essays over and over in my mind. When I was processing grief and loss, specific sentences from the chapter on "Love" weighed heavily on my mind. My friend, who recommended his works to me, had probably done the same. I take it up to the counter.

He said, "Krishnamurti. I assume you've heard of this man."

I replied, "Yes, I've read Freedom From the Known. I love it."

"You know, I've actually met this man. I remember he was talking, and there was a Tibetan monk who sat and listened. He had nothing more to say; he just nodded."

"Wow, that's amazing!"

"What is it that he said? Something about 'achieving the present.'"

"It's something that is hard to do. I feel like his writings really speak to me."

"Well, if you are someone who feels that way, you are already on the right path."

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Do we think before we speak?

No, really, what does it mean to allow language to flow from your mind, through your mouth, and into the ear of another person? When we want our words to reach someone's soul, we subliminally prepare our tones, our microexpressions, and even our expectation of how our sentences are to be received.

This is a language in itself. Language is socially engineered beyond the bounds of dictionary definition. Learning a language is difficult due to the multifaceted depth of concurrent exchange — it's not just the words themselves, it's the subtleties in conversation that are picked up through years of assessing patterns.

And how frequently do our original thoughts and intents get muddled through giving and receiving spoken word!

Just think of how many times you've wanted to express the inner workings of your mind, only for your intent to be mangled by words you cannot find. Or perhaps a bit of an awkward presentation in your facial expressions. An oddness to your vocal tone. A jarring misstep in the timing of your interjection, or a rambling thought that has overstayed its welcome. You feel your partner growing tense. Or perhaps you never noticed.

You can take all the time in the world to write a passage, but the flow of spoken conversation is a dance with a tempo that is raging and unforgiving. Then you meet someone who can overcome this dissonance — now, conversation becomes quite effortless. That is to say, they "speak your language."

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I will never pretend to be an intellectual of any sort. I unfortunately know very little about the literature of the world. I am not so much of a voracious bibliophile, a scholar, or a pioneer. But I am a thinker. I think for hours on end, immersed in thoughts that spill out of my head and never onto paper.

Yes, it is a very self-absorbed way of life, to be preoccupied with your thoughts. I can, however, say that most people are indeed very concerned with themselves. (That may be another conversation for another day.)

In the last few years, I became very invested in the experiences of other people. I developed a curiosity for human thinking, searching for unexplored patterns of thought, perspectives, and interests. During the darkest days of my life, I yearned thoroughly for human connection and guidance. I want to know what makes people go on, and what makes life so fascinating and full of boundless avenues to be explored.

I wanted to be heard on the level of the human soul, but I could not breach that barrier. After all, it is not a "first conversation" type of talk to have with someone. I've understood that many people simply do not care about topics such as philosophy. But the people that do — they have this quiet hesitation about them. To splay one's heart out to another person, and ask them to do the same, requires speaking the same language.

There are languages I am not fluent in. No, I don't just mean my broken Mandarin Chinese, or native spoken English, or what you would typically think of when talking about language. It is not only the subtle gestures and facial expressions that are so crucial to languages such as American Sign Language. Music is also a language. Culture is a language. There is an inexplicable depth to how someone might interpret a conversation based on the culmination of the experiences they've had leading up to that moment.

When you feel like someone speaks your language, and truly speaks it well, it is very special.

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Neurodivergence is something that has also fascinated me in terms of social interaction and communication. Of course, the status quo benefits neurotypical individuals — communication assumes that you can master the intricacies inherent to human speech. Nonverbal communication, like facial expressions, which are biologically hardwired into us, plays a critical role in language.

Is it ableist to have an expectation that neurodiverse individuals should acclimate to the speech patterns that have become ingrained in society? It comes from an internal desire to have someone who speaks our language. It has been internalized into our brains and, as a result, becomes the basis by which society operates.

When someone questions you bluntly, interrupts the flow of conversation with a loosely related thought, or delivers their tone in an unexpected way, do you view it as a sign of arrogance? Do you think, "Ah, this person possesses a critical lack of awareness and sensitivity!"

Could it actually be not a sign of character, but rather a difference in language? I think often about this. The above examples are certain traits of autism and ADHD that can manifest as insensitivities in speech when perceived by neurotypical individuals. Typically, we are conditioned to perceive someone who questions our motives as judgmental rather than inquisitive. We sometimes think of interruptions in our stories as insensitive, rather than as bonding. There are so many other avenues of communication that can simply be lost in translation, especially when people's brains are hardwired differently.

As a neurotypical individual, I do not want to think of language barriers as one-way accommodation. It can put a lot of strain on an individual, regardless of whether they are neurodivergent or neurotypical. As I've grown older, I've realized how important it is to modulate communication and be direct when you feel that a conversation has become stressful. Sincerity is usually appreciated, especially when it comes from a place of trying to make yourself and the other person feel heard.

"Thank you for your thought, but can I finish what I was saying first?"

"I have been talking for a long time, so please let me know if you would like to talk about something else."

"I know you have a lot to say about [topic], but I was hoping for some quiet time right now. Let's talk later!"

Have you ever thought about language in such a way? It takes a lot of practice, patience, and empathy to have a mastery of not just language, but conversation. Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

— Valentine